Cooking for One, Dinner for Two
by caremkefo
Summary: College AU written for the prompt, 'You thought our cooking smelled good and walked into our kitchen drunk as fuck wanting to try some. AU'


Castiel quickly yet smoothly rocked the knife back and forward across the chopping board, leaving a neat pile of chopped red chillies in its wake. The dulcet tones of Debussy's _Claire de Lune_ filled the air as he worked along with the sweet smell of vegetables roasting in the oven.

He wasn't your stereotypical student, and hated that he was a cliché. He couldn't understand how his flatmates could - or even wanted to - live off of ramen noodles. Although they were cheap, they were grossly unhealthy and _disgusting_. He didn't waste his money on alcohol, like his flatmates and so many of his classmates, so could afford to eat well. And he preferred to spend his evenings and weekends studying instead of partying.

The timer _beeped_ at him, so he turned the oven off and retrieved the dish of vegetables - peppers, onions, aubergines, and courgettes - only just starting to blacken around the edges. Perfect.

He wished he _was_ a stereotypical student, though. He'd _like_ to party with his friends, and perhaps even find a man to call his boyfriend, but his social ineptitude made that impossible. He had no friends at university and only one childhood friend back home, so it was either go out alone and look like the weird loner that he was or embrace solitude.

The murmur of voices travelled up the hallway, and a moment later his flatmates entered the kitchen. "I'm not gonna waste my time asking if _you've_ got any plans," Alastair sneered, switching Castiel's music off.

"I have a date with my textbooks," Castiel replied coolly, filling the blender with the roasted vegetables and chopped chillies.

Alastair snorted. "I'll try and keep it down when I get in, then."

_No you won't_, Castiel thought to himself. "Thank you," he replied instead, through gritted teeth.

They all laughed and, once Alastair had retrieved his jacket from the back of one of the chairs surrounding the table that nobody used, left Castiel alone.

He pressed play, and his music started up again. Blending the vegetable and chilli mixture until it was a smooth, orange-coloured puree, he emptied a carton of passata into a pot (for you can't make _everything_ from scratch) and stirred it through. Finally, he added some dried herbs, extra spices, and the chicken leftovers from the previous night. As he let it heat up on the back ring, he brought another pan of water to the boil and threw in some pasta. That would give him just over ten minutes to wash up, then he would eat, study for an hour or so, and go to bed. He silently cursed guest lectures that took place in the evening.

When he had bubbles halfway up to his elbows, he heard unsteady footsteps making their way up the hallway. He thought that one of his flatmates must have forgotten something, until an unfamiliar voice said, "That smells _amazing_."

Castiel spun round in shock, speechless at both the sight of a stranger in his kitchen and the _beauty_ of the strange man standing before him.

Green eyes stared at him from under long, thick lashes, freckles sprinkled across his cheeks, and full, pink lips spread into a grin, revealing impossibly white teeth.

"I... What... _Who..?_" Castiel stuttered.

"I'm starving," the man said, moving towards the cooker. He lifted the lid off the sauce and sniffed forcefully.

Castiel would be surprised if the stranger didn't _inhale_ the sauce.

"Can I try some?"

"I... Yes?" He wanted nothing more than for the man to leave, but if he was anything like Alastair when he was drunk then the worst thing he could do would be to force him to leave. Perhaps if he went along with the man's request, he'd leave quietly.

"Awesome."

He moved to dunk a finger in the pot, but Castiel swatted his hand away.

"You'll burn yourself!" he scolded the man. Then he sighed in defeat. "Just... Sit down and I'll bring some over to you when it's ready."

The man grinned. "Okay."

His 'guest' obediently sat down at the table, and Castiel's shoulders sagged as he realised he now had company for the evening. He swapped his plate for two small bowls and retrieved extra cutlery from the drawer.

"That smells amazing," the man told him again.

"Thank you."

"Who _are_ you?"

"My name is Castiel."

"Cast... Castee... Cas. Dean," he said, pointing at himself with his thumb.

"It's nice to meet you, Dean," Castiel lied as he drained the pasta and split it between the two bowls, before spooning the chicken and sauce over the top. He carried Dean's over to the table first before retrieving his own and a small tub of grated parmesan, which he sprinkled over the top.

"Mmm," Dean said around a mouthful of chicken. "This is _amazing_."

Despite his misgivings at sharing his dinner with a drunken stranger, Castiel smiled. "Thank you. My flatmates don't appreciate my cooking."

"They should. I'd rather eat this than ramen noodles."

Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As he ate, he watched Dean stuff forkful after forkful in his mouth, sometimes not even swallowing the first before shoving in a second, until his bowl was empty. His own was still half full.

"Have you got any more?"

"No." Castiel shook his head.

"What about bread?"

Castiel pointed at the pre-sliced loaf beside the microwave.

"Awesome."

Dean grabbed a couple of slices out of the packet, not bothering to seal it back up again, and proceeded to wipe his bowl clean while Castiel emptied his own.

"You've got a..." Dean motioned to the corner of his mouth.

Castiel raised a hand to wipe any remaining sauce away.

"Other side."

He tried again.

"Hang on," Dean said, leaning over.

Castiel froze as Dean's hand reached for his mouth, sweeping a thumb across the trace of sauce beside his mouth. His eyes tracked Dean's thumb as he wrapped his lips around it, sucking it clean. It was obscene, and the music seemed to fade until the only thing Castiel could hear was his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"Mmm, that's good," Dean sighed. He leaned forward again but this time it was his tongue, not his thumb, that swept across the corner of his mouth.

Instinctively Castiel turned, pressing his own lips against Dean's. Perhaps it was a good thing that his first kiss was with a strange, beautiful, _drunk_ man who probably wouldn't remember it in the morning, and therefore wouldn't be able to tell him how bad he was.

"Mmm." Dean smiled. "That's good, too."

Castiel's cheeks grew warm. "I should wash up," he said.

"And I should go to bed," Dean yawned. "But I'm not sure I can make it back to my place."

"I'm sure you'll manage just fine," Castiel choked out, trying not to entertain the notion of Dean spending the night in his bed.

"Right. I can take rejection. That's fine."

"No, I—"

"'S fine, Cas," Dean shrugged, getting to his feet and swaying a little. "This is why I don't hit on guys when I'm sober. They always turn out to be straight."

"I'm not."

"Just don't punch me for thinking you're hot." Dean frowned, suddenly realising that Castiel had spoken. "What?"

"I'm not. Straight."

"Oh." Dean stared at him for a long moment. "Boyfriend?"

"No."

Dean seemed to get smaller in front of him as his shoulders sagged in disappointment. "It's me."

"I've never had a boyfriend," Castiel admitted, wondering why he was opening up to a man he'd known for less than half an hour and would probably never see again. "I've never kissed a boy before. And I've never..."

"'M gonna go," Dean told him.

"Right," Castiel said. Of course the fact he was a virgin would put him off. Who was still a virgin at the age of twenty-three, anyway?

"But I wanna call you. If that's okay."

A small glimmer of hope grew inside him, and he nodded. "You know," Castiel heard himself say, as Dean staggered towards the door, "I don't think you'll make it back to yours after all."

"'M not gonna take your virginity like this, Cas," Dean told him gently.

"I wasn't going to give it to you," Castiel shot back, a little too harshly. Dean flinched a little at his tone, and he took a breath. "I just... don't want you to leave yet," he said, more softly this time. "Is that strange?"

Dean grinned. "No. 'Cause I don't wanna leave."

"I didn't want you here when you first walked in," Cas admitted. "I'm glad I let you stay."

"'S anyone ever told you you're hot?"

"You did," Cas reminded him. "Just two minutes ago."

Dean laughed. "Did I?"

Cas nodded, but the fact Dean had forgotten so quickly made him wonder if he'd forget _him_ in the morning.

"Oh. 'Cause I was gonna tell you now. That I think you're hot."

"I think it's just because I've been standing over the cooker," Cas heard himself saying. _What?_

But Dean laughed, a large, glorious laugh that appeared to knock his head back and, so it felt to Cas, lit up the kitchen.

He wasn't _that_ funny. But still, knowing that _he_ was the one who had made Dean laugh so happily made him smile.

"You should do that more often," Dean told him, stepping closer to him. "Smile, I mean."

"I find that I don't often have things to smile about."

"What might make you smile again?" Dean asked softly, his face centimetres away.

Cas watched his lips move as they formed the question, almost too distracted by them to hear it. "If you kissed me again," he breathed, wondering if Dean would.

He needn't have doubted it for, with a grin, Dean leaned closer and pressed their mouths together.

This time he could savour it - the prickle of Dean's stubble against his lips, the taste of whiskey on his tongue, the warmth of his hand cupping his neck...

He was smiling when Dean pulled away.

"I should do that more often," Dean told him.

"You should," Cas agreed. _Where was this coming from?_

Dean yawned.

"Maybe you should go to bed."

"Maybe you should show me where it is," Dean pointed out, and somehow the words sounded like a flirtation.

"Oh. Yes. Um, it's this way."

Castiel led Dean to his room, stopping every few steps to allow Dean to catch up because he seemed unable to stand without the aid of the wall.

"It's this one," he said, standing outside his door.

"Okay."

When Dean didn't go in, Cas realised he was waiting for him. "Oh. Right." He opened the door and walked into his room, hurriedly kicking his textbooks under the bed.

Dean stood in the doorway and looked around. "Huh. Tidy," he observed.

"Thank you."

Dean stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

Dean closed the distance between them and kissed him. "Smile."

Unable to help himself, Castiel grinned like a lovestruck schoolgirl. He didn't recognise himself with this man - this crazy, drunken man who had walked into his flat uninvited yet made him feel... oddly special.

Kissing him once more, their lips had barely parted when Dean threw himself on the bed, bouncing a couple of times, before getting under the covers with all the grace of a deer on ice. Once he was settled, he patted the empty space beside himself seductively.

Chuckling at Dean's antics, Castiel perched on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Get in here, dude," Dean insisted, failing to pull down the covers with Castiel's weight pinning them down.

"But I haven't showered, or cleaned my teeth, or—" But his protests were cut off with a surprised exclamation as Dean grabbed his arm and yanked him down. "Okay!" he laughed.

When Dean's arm snaked around his waist as soon as he was under the covers, Castiel began to relax immediately. He stroked his fingers along Dean's strong, freckled arm. In response Dean nuzzled contentedly into his neck, his stubble scratching against his skin.

After a few moments, a low rumbling told Castiel that Dean was asleep. Though he wasn't tired he didn't move, instead enjoying the feeling of a strong, warm body beside him. It was over an hour until he finally dozed off, but the time seemed to pass in minutes.

. * * * .

When he woke up the next morning he was alone, but the other side of the bed was still warm. A moment later the bathroom door clicked, and Dean walked out.

"Hi," he murmured sleepily.

Dean leaned against the doorframe and grinned. "Hey." He massaged his temples with his fingers. "I've got a killer headache. Not the worst hangover I've had, though." He paused. "We didn't, uh..."

Cas shook his head. Just how little of last night did Dean remember? "You wouldn't take my virginity," he heard himself say, and blushed.

Dean huffed a relieved laugh. "Nice to know I'm still a gentleman after a few drinks! Well, _more_ than a few... Do you eat breakfast, or are you one of those students that skips 'the most important meal of the day'?"

"No, I eat breakfast," Cas told him.

"Oh, good. What do you have?"

"Cereal, toast... I might be able to rustle up some bacon and eggs, if you—" He cut off when he noticed that Dean looked a little queasy.

"Bacon and eggs sounds _amazing_, but not after last night. It might just come back up again, and that'd be a waste."

"Cereal or toast, then."

"Toast."

"Alright." Cas slipped out of bed. "Just let me urinate and brush my teeth, first."

. * * * .

"Make some for me, would you?" Alastair groaned ten minutes later, grabbing Cas's glass of apple juice and draining it in three gulps.

"Alright," Cas said, pulling another couple of slices of bread out of the bag.

"You shouldn't let your flatmates boss you around like that," Dean told Cas, rising to his feet.

Alastair stared at him. "Who are you?"

"A friend," Cas said with finality, hoping to nip any brewing arguments in the bud.

"Oh, yeah?" Alastair looked him up and down in a way that made Dean's skin crawl. "Then how come I haven't seen him before?"

"He's a _new_ friend."

"So he's what you're calling a 'text book', huh?"

Castiel turned pink. "No! It's not like that."

"The more you protest, the more I'm going to think you're lying," Alastair told him with a smirk.

"Fuck off, dude!" Dean snapped, moving to stand beside Cas. "What - you haven't got a life of your own so you need to mock his?"

"It's fine, Dean."

Dean rounded on Cas. "No, it's _not_ fine. You should talk to the accommodation staff, see if you can't get moved. Tell them you're living with assholes."

"Who's to say there's even anywhere for me _to_ go?" Cas pointed out.

"Benny and I have a spare room in our apartment. Our other flatmate, Chuck, just upped and disappeared one day. Dropped out and left without a word. Kevin _technically_ has the fourth room, but he's hardly ever there. Always in the library or the music rooms. I swear he even _sleeps_ there..."

Suddenly the idea of moving to a different apartment seemed very pleasing. He was tired of Alastair's comments, his drunkenness, and his loud parties. His other flatmates - Meg and Ruby - were just as bad.

"Do you think your flatmates would mind?"

Dean grinned. "If you promise to cook for us some nights they'll never let you leave." Moving closer, he grabbed Castiel's wrist in a loose grip and stroked his thumb over his skin. "Say yes?"

As Cas stared into Dean's green eyes, his skin burning beneath Dean's touch, he realised he couldn't say no. "Yes," he whispered. Clearing his throat, he repeated, "Yes. I'll talk to the accommodation staff after breakfast."

"Now," Dean told him, tugging him towards the door."

"Okay," Cas grinned. "Now."

"What about my breakfast?" Alastair shouted after them.

"Starve, assbutt!" Cas shouted back, much to Dean's amusement.

It took them twice the time to walk to the reception area because Dean stopped to make out with Cas - not that he was complaining - and it seemed that Mr Singer had a soft spot for Dean because he agreed to move Cas immediately upon his complaint that Cas was being abused by those in his apartment.

They stopped by Dean's apartment on the way back to rope Benny into helping them carry Cas's things over, and he was officially moved in by lunch.

"So, how did you two meet?" Benny asked, as they all filed out of Cas's new room and moved towards the kitchen. "'Cause Dean would have mentioned if you were in his class." He shot a knowing look at Dean.

Dean retorted defensively, "What are you—"

"I have _eyes_, brother. I can see the way you're looking at him. And you can't shut up about any cute guy you see."

Dean blushed and stuttered what might have been attempts at denial.

Beside him, Cas looked down and smiled, a little pleased.

"So?" Benny pressed.

"I, uh..." Dean struggled to answer - or perhaps _remember_ \- and looked at Cas for help.

"You thought my cooking smelled good, and walked into our kitchen drunk as fuck wanting to try some," Cas told him wryly.

"I didn't!"

"You did."

"Wow."

"_Real_ classy, Dean," Benny drawled.

"Well, you cooked me dinner so I'll cook you lunch. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful," Cas smiled. "What are we having?"

"Do you like ramen noodles?"


End file.
